Think about it. If you were meant to be somewhere else, you’d be there.

And yet we stress and stress about getting through traffic, rushing to get somewhere, and we miss the point that we’re already there – where we’re meant to be.

Today Pedrata and I got to the airport nice and early so we could begin our return journey home (thanks Mark for the ride!).

There was quite a long wait as the clerk tried to figure out why they wouldn’t let her ticket my last leg of the flight. After a few phone calls, she found out that the other carrier had slightly altered the departure time of the flight.

“Okay, no big deal.” I thought, “That’s why we come to the airport so early.”

Then we waited to board our flight. After a bit, I realized that there wasn’t the standard action. As in the standard, people with small children, business class, blah, blah blah . . . “Okay, what’s up?” I thought.

Waited in line and the nice guy named Alan assured me that I’d make my connection.

“Okay, Alan, I’m going to trust you on this” (knowing that it’ll all work out as it’s meant to).

After another half hour went by, and I only had an hour between flights at my next destination, I once again approached the booth.

“I think I’ll be booking you on that other flight route,” he said as he called the others to come up to the gate.

“Got it. Thanks Alan.”

And as the plane was being boarded, he called me over to another booth. Another phone call was made. My bag was taken off the plane. And Pedrata and I just watched it all thinking to ourselves, “Wherever we’re meant to be is where we are.”

Click, click, click. I heard the new tickets being issued.

“Okay, I’ll see you in about 2 hours,” Alan said.

“Okay. Hey, any chance I can get a voucher for a coffee?” (realizing that the 2 hour nap I had planned wasn’t going to happen.)

“Sure,” he replied, “I’d be glad to. Just give me a minute.”

So we rested our dawgs and set down our heavy pack that is carrying a rather LARGE cast iron skillet that my mother graciously gave me when I happened to mention sometime that I think I’d actually like to use one. It cracked me up how she remembered that (I didn’t remember telling her that), but then will forget other things that can seem so important to me.

No matter. If she’s meant to remember anything, she will.

. . .

Fast forward to being on the first plane of three.

I’m chatting it up with a woman sitting beside me . . . and lo and behold, it ends up that she knew my Dad. LOVED my Dad.

“I LOVED your Dad,” she gushed. “And my husband too; he really misses him. Your Dad used to help my granddaughter with tennis tips.”

Yup, sounds like my Dad.

Thanks Dad for that little shout out and hello!

And thanks for helping to orchestrate that flight change so that I could be so clearly reminded and SHOWN how we’re ALWAYS where we’re meant to be!

I LOVE how you’re always keeping an eye on me. Ever present in my life.

I love you too Dad.

Boy, do I ever love YOU!

: )

✫ Sj out ✫